


unprompted

by golden_forge



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Characters inspired by real people, Domestic, Fake AH Crew, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Rain, rainstorm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-07 21:36:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19093615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_forge/pseuds/golden_forge
Summary: Rain does something odd to the minds of Los Santos.





	unprompted

**Author's Note:**

> hi there! welcome to my first ever ah fic that i’ve published. thank you for clicking on this fic at all—i know there are many other things to be doing, but you’re here instead. for that, i am eternally grateful.
> 
> with that, i hope you enjoy the story!
> 
> (inspired by “The Santa Ana” by Joan Didion)

Heat drives the people of Los Santos through their lives. In the morning, it’s almost like a pleasant campfire chasing away the heavy dampness of the night. It absorbs the chill that is settled deep in the wooden boards of the houses lined up alongside lamp posts that drip with condensation. Then, after the sleepy heat of the afternoon, the heat reaches a tolerable peak in the evening that coaxes weaker wills out from their shells into the cool clubs and bars filled with artificial neon lights and the heartbeat of living music, thriving people. It descends from its high with the yellow moon showering its light across the sleeping body of the city.

It is during these times the Fakes come out to wreak their usual havoc throughout the city. The warmth excites them, encourages them to join the buzzing crowds.

But every once in a while, like a broken thermometer, the heat does not stop at the morning dew. It just keeps climbing, becoming more and more suffocating like a weighted blanket that cannot be torn away no matter how much one thrashes and snarls. The blaze can last for a few days or a few weeks: either way, the effect is the same. The people of Los Santos cannot ever understand rest or laziness. There must always be something to do, something to accomplish, no matter how menial the task. When the inferno of the sun smothers the city, there was nothing that could be done. And so it is during these times the sinless become sinners.

The heat no longer serves as the ocean’s siren call. Instead, it transforms into something animalistic. It sings a demand for blood, humming in satisfaction with each drop fated to fall on the blistering concrete, where it does not quite boil, but it simmers, waiting to render away like fat on a pan. The Devil himself is too hot to come out, so he leaves it to the people to drive themselves insane.

But as of now, it was raining.

There was a certain, delicate stillness that settles over Los Santos when it rained. A mass of gray swells across the whole sky for miles, succeeding the sun tenfold. The air was fresh, tasteless. It was unnatural, the absence of the musky-herbal smell of weed, acrid cigarette smoke, and rotten car exhaust. The clean sensation sits heavy on the tongue, too pure for these people. Rivulets of water stream down the street gracelessly, swirling into drains like dancers spinning offstage into the curtains. Raindrops dance to an invisible beat on the rooftops. The beaches are untouched. The clubs are empty, the bars, quiet.

Where the sun is sharp and torrid, the rain is round and cool. It slows everything down from a sprint to an amble to a stop. Like a couple, the rain soothes the sun’s anger just be being there. It bring the rare luxury of laziness and tranquility, the cozy blankets and socks too warm for most times, the favorite TV shows and comfort drinks. The rain is everything Los Santos is not. Quiet, peaceful, gentle.

It is here where Jeremy rests. The penthouse is hushed—not totally silent, but hushed. Somewhere within the walls, he can hear laughter, muffled conversation, and domestic contentment. He is on the couch with a blanket piled unceremoniously on his legs. A mug of coffee steams away on the glass coffee table. Beside him is Ryan, who is playing a shockingly successful round of Mario Kart by himself.

 _King Boo does better without peer pressure,_  he argues. Jeremy wonders where Ryan gets the idea that a bunch of pixels and code could even start to understand what having a peer meant, let alone what peer pressure meant, but when it comes from Ryan, he gets it.

Jeremy glances out the window in time to a low rumble of thunder. It sinks into his core, shivering and heavy. He watches the black tips of the skyscrapers poking through the fog for a moment, blurred and smeared by fat raindrops sliding down the glass window, then blinks slowly, and goes to back looking at Ryan.

Even though he vehemently denies it, Ryan’s tongue absolutely does stick out a little bit when he’s concentrating. His whole body seems to follow the motion. His eyes are held wide, his torso is bent forward and his ankles bump the bottom of the couch every so often when he curls his legs at a particularly stressful moment. Jeremy can feel the panicked jerk and flex of his arm and shoulder as Ryan hurries to chuck his shells as fast as possible in aimless directions. _It’s okay to aim sometimes_ , they tell him. But he never listens.

(When had he moved close enough to Ryan to feel his every movement?)

 _What a maniac_ , Jeremy thinks. He’s seen this one man commit horrors a lesser man would faint at. Somehow, he’s the same man that gets completely enamored by Mario Kart and apologizes under his breath when he sends his character careening off the stage for the thousandth time.

The moment shatters when Ryan throws his controller down and falls back into the couch, shouting, “Hah! I did it, Jeremy, _I did it!_ Boo got first! Look at him!”

A rare grin pushes an even rarer thrilled flush into Ryan’s pale cheeks. If Jeremy had not been curled up next to him this whole time, warm, at peace, he would have guessed he’d just returned from a jog with the way the rosy hue dyes his skin a misty pink.

Maybe it’s the rain. Maybe it really is turning him towards insanity, just like the sun. Or maybe it’s the lack of sun that does it. But ultimately, Jeremy really has no idea what it is that rushes up inside of him like foaming water from a bursting dam that pushes him to tilt his head up and interrupt Ryan’s celebrations with a kiss.

For that moment, the only sound is a gentle  _shush_ as the downpour intensifies. The game’s victorious revelry fades away, and Jeremy’s world narrows down from the everchanging confines of the universe to the yawning galaxy to the tilting earth and down, down, down, all the way to the single points where he and Ryan touch. The opportunity to take one step further comes when Ryan’s mouth falls open slightly out of shock, but Jeremy allows it to pass in the name of blissful chasteness. He can taste something sweet on Ryan’s lips, and he is far more interested in that than anything else in the world.

Another roll of thunder, and Jeremy pulls away. He can feel how still Ryan's arm has gone.

It’s completely quiet for a few seconds. The music returns.

“Why’d you do that?” Ryan whispers. He has the same wide-eyed look he did a minute ago, only more shocked. Vulnerable. His tongue comes out and nervously swipes his bottom lip. Jeremy glances back out the window. In the distance, a little patch of sunlight has opened up, piercing a hole in the silky gray veil. Jeremy thinks there's a word for that little dot in the sky, but he's too far gone to think much of it.

“Dunno,” he mutters. The patch flexes open, then closes. Opens. Closes. “Felt like it. Sorry, I—That was out of line—”

“Don’t be sorry,” comes the immediate, breathless answer.

Jeremy swallows. “Why not?”

Ryan’s eyes have not left him once. He would feel it if they did.

“Jeremy.” He meets Ryan’s gaze. He looks, for a lack of suitable words, beautiful, with of all his sharp contrasts and blunt edges rounded out by soft gaiety. “I’d really like it if we could do that again.”

Leaning forward, legs curling, blue eyes holding the intensity the infinite sky cannot and still so, so wide, Jeremy can see his shocked reflection gaping back at him. He closes his mouth.

“Please,” he says.

This time, Ryan is the one to meet him. One hand, calloused, scarred, pinkie finger splinted, comes up to cradle his jaw heartbreakingly gently. Jeremy leans into the touch instinctually, as if he exists just to fit perfectly into Ryan’s palm. His eyes flutter shut.

When they kiss again, there is so much _more_ to it that Jeremy very nearly sighs with the thrill that races through his body. One of his own hands braces itself between the couch and Ryan’s side, which burns hot even through his t-shirt, and the other one loops itself lightly around Ryan’s bicep. Something light and pine scented drifts into his nose, and he can still taste that sweet something— _probably Diet Coke_ , he distantly realizes.

Ryan tilts his head to compensate for the awkward angle Jeremy’s at, and it makes it so much _better_ that Jeremy cannot resist pushing into him a little harder. He hears Ryan sharply inhale through his nose, then hum, pleased. The sensation sends lingering prickles through Jeremy’s smile. He laughs softly.

“What’s so funny?” Ryan asks. They’re still so close, his lips brush against Jeremy’s as he speaks. Jeremy sneaks in a final, firm kiss, then flushes warmly. Somehow  _t_ _hat’s_ the one that seems a little too intimate. Maybe it’s because it’s of his own volition, and not Ryan’s, and it isn’t a thought broken free from the rope that’s become languid and loosened by the rain.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Just... yeah. I don’t know.”

“Me neither.” Ryan huffs fondly and begins to move away. Jeremy misses the contact immediately, but it turns out Ryan is just repositioning himself so Jeremy can be tucked snugly under his arm. “Guess it’s a little late to say I wish you’d’ve done that ages ago.”

Jeremy laughs again, more freely this time, and hides his face in Ryan’s side. “Ages? Didn't know you were that much of a sap, Vagabond.”

“Shut up.”

Outside, the sun is hidden away once more behind the sweeping curtains of rain.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! i hope you liked reading this drabble as much as i did writing it. if you did, feel free to let me know, or even suggest what else you’d like to see in the future! i’m a new, young writer to the fandom, after all, and i’m not quite acquainted with what the people would like to see.
> 
> you can reach me on [tumblr](https://golden-forge.tumblr.com/) or just by leaving a comment! every kudos, comment, bookmark, what-have-you, is deeply appreciated and inspires me to keep writing!
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> [DISCLAIMER: this and any future stories i post to the achievement hunter fandom are written under guidelines the good people of rooster teeth and achievement hunter have officially given. the most recent update i could find of said guidelines is [here.](https://fuckyeahrtfanfic.tumblr.com/post/156758056406/rooster-teeth-rules-guidelines-30) this story’s events are entirely fictional, and the characters within it are inspired by but do not represent real people.]


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